Friend From the Internet Read online

  “It seemed cool at the time,” I point out. “Mysterious.”

  “I guess we were pretentious kids.”

  I laugh, and she laughs too.

  “I always wondered what you were like in real life, though,” she continues.

  “Did I turn out how you expected?” I ask.

  She squints, and for a few seconds she acts as if she's having trouble deciding.

  “I guess,” she says finally, unable to hide a smile. “Maybe you're a little shorter than I pictured, but apart from that you're pretty cool.”

  I smile, and for a moment we fall silent. I wait for Paula to say something, since she seems like the kind of person who never runs out of words, but instead she seems content to just stare at me. In fact, after a moment I suddenly worry that she might try to kiss me, which would be pretty weird.

  As the seconds tick past, I feel more and more certain that I'm right.

  I don't pull away, though.

  I just wait, while feeling a slowly growing tingling sensation low down in my belly.

  Nothing happens, though, and I start to wonder whether she's waiting for me to be the one who makes a move first. Not that I'm that kind of person, of course, and I don't even know if I want to kiss her. I never thought about it before, and I'm only thinking about it now because she's staring at me in that weird way.

  Suddenly she rolls onto her back and looks at the ceiling, and I feel the moment passing.

  “It's weird,” she says. “Like, I'm not angry at you for disappearing on me like that, but... I shouldn't admit this, but you were my best friend back then. You still are, in a way. I felt we had a real connection, like we could be thick as thieves. My dumb-ass brother used to call you my friend from the internet, like that made our bond any less strong. The truth is, I think it made it even stronger, 'cause it showed that we were a good fit for each other.”

  I wait, but she seems to be giving a speech and I don't want to interrupt her.

  “So I'm totally not angry,” she continues, still staring at the ceiling, “but there's still a big part of me that doesn't understand why you went away. I guess I just want answers, you know? I want to know why you left without even saying goodbye.”

  “I told you, I -”

  “Yeah, I heard.” She pauses. “I'm probably just being weird. I should focus on the fact that I found you again, that some massive coincidence threw us back together. I should put the dark shit out of my mind.”

  I try to think of something to say, and it's clear that she's still a little annoyed. Finally I roll onto my back and join her in staring at the ceiling, and I can't help imagining the stars above. And although I feel I should break the silence somehow, we end up just staring up there without saying a word. Eventually Paula reaches over and takes my hand in hers, but I keep my gaze on the ceiling. At some point I realize that she's falling asleep, and the room starts to get a little darker, and then I guess we both doze off because the next thing I know it's morning and sunlight is streaming through the window and Paula is nowhere to be found.

  Extract from chat log

  Tuesday January 1st 2013

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Hey early bird, how was the party?

  I thought you'd be recovering still.

  Mayfly90330:

  Hang on.

  Brb.

  Okay.

  Wow, the party was insane until the police showed up.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Police?

  Mayfly90330:

  Some asshole called the cops and said we were doing loads of drugs.

  Which we weren't.

  Literally only beer.

  But yeah, some total asshole called the cops and said there was heroin, coke, all that stuff.

  We got busted.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Sounds like a mood-killer.

  Mayfly90330:

  This asshole also claimed there were loads of kids at the party.

  Like small kids.

  What is wrong with some people?

  Why would anyone do that?

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Beats me.

  Mayfly90330:

  Still trying to figure out who it could have been.

  Obviously someone who knew where the party was being held.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Obviously.

  Someone local, then.

  Mayfly90330:

  Duh.

  Total bummer.

  I'd kill the bastard if I got hold of him. Ruined a great night.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  LOL.

  Trying to imagine you killing anyone.

  Hard.

  Mayfly90330:

  Lol.

  Maybe.

  I'll take that as a compliment. I think. So how was your new year?

  Better than mine, I'm sure.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Had its moments.

  Interesting.

  Long story.

  Mayfly90330:

  Happy new year, tho.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Yeah.

  You too.

  Happy fucking new year.

  Chapter Eleven

  Today

  “Paula?”

  Stopping at the top of the stairs, I wait for a reply, but the house remains quiet. Since I woke up a couple of minutes ago, there's been no sign of her, and I'm starting to think that maybe she's left already.

  “Paula! Where are you?”

  I head down to the living room, but there's still no reply. I check the downstairs bathroom, and then the kitchen, before walking back to the living room and stopping next to the table as I realize that she must have woken earlier and headed out to do something.

  Looking at the table, I spot Paula's notebook and pen. I instinctively reach out to take a look, but as my fingers brush the cover I realize that maybe I shouldn't invade her privacy. Still, I hesitate for a moment, and then I carefully open the notebook and see that it's actually filled with drawings.

  Hundreds and hundreds of drawings, mostly of faces but also of streets and houses too. She's a pretty good artist, even with just a biro, and I flick through more of the pages before remembering that I shouldn't be doing this. Closing the notebook, I'm about to go back upstairs when I realize that I have literally zero food in the house, which means only one thing.

  I'm going to have to go outside.

  ***

  Town is busy this morning, even though it looks as if there was a lot of rain during the night. It's a market day, so the car park is filled with stalls selling bread and cheese and CDs and all sorts of other stuff. As I wander along, avoiding the deeper puddles, I try to figure out what Paula might want to eat.

  Of course, I don't even know for sure that she's coming back at all. Maybe she left for good this morning.

  Unable to make a decision, I pick my way through the market. I usually just grab some bread and cheese, and make do with that, but I don't want Paula to think that I'm some kind of cheapskate. In fact, I'm surprised to realize that deep down I really want to impress her, which is weird but also a little comforting. I also feel really, really bad for abandoning her years ago when we were friends online, and I want to make up for that whole mess. It's pretty crazy that we've found each other again, and -

  Stopping at the end of a row of stalls, I'm suddenly struck by just how crazy this whole coincidence seems. I mean, I know coincidences do happen, but it's still hard to believe that Paula just happened to break into the house where I'm staying, and that she then steered the conversation onto a pretty obscure topic that revealed the link between us. For a moment, I actually catch myself wondering whether she's being entirely honest, and I've got to admit that there's a part of me that thinks maybe she did track me down after all.

  I mean, she seems pretty intense.

  Actually, that's an understatement. She's the most intense person I've ever met in my life.

 
As I'm thinking about this possibility, I realize I can hear a rustling sound nearby. Turning, I see that a newspaper has been dumped next to the wall, and a gentle breeze is rippling the pages. I don't know why, but I wander over and look down, and I see that it's a copy of the local paper with the recent murder dominating the front page.

  Crouching down, I look at the headline:

  MURDERED GIRL NAMED. NAOMI HART, 16, STABBED IN ALLEY.

  “Naomi Hart,” I whisper, feeling a shudder as I think back to the sight of the police officers in the alley. I actually saw the dead girl's feet, back when I thought maybe she was Paula.

  The wind almost turns the page, but then settles down a little, allowing me to read the first couple of paragraphs out loud.

  “Police have identified the teenaged girl who was found stabbed to death in Broadfarm Alley,” I whisper. “Naomi Hart, aged 16, was originally from Warwickshire but ran away from home late last year. Police have spoken with her parents and are working to establish whether the girl had any local connections to Croftby or the surrounding area.”

  I pause for a moment, feeling slightly nauseous.

  “That's so sad,” I say with a sigh.

  I reach down to turn the page, but the wind does the job for me and I see that the murder is all over pages two and three as well. There's a photo of this Naomi Hart girl, and I stare at her smiling face for a moment before looking down and seeing some details off her death.

  “Police have revealed that Hart was stabbed more than sixty times,” I read out loud, “in what they describe as a frenzied attack. A postmortem examination has also revealed extensive bruising on the back of the head, as well as fractures on the skull that are consistent with a series of heavy blows.”

  For a moment, I look at the girl's smiling face and imagine her screaming in that dark alley as she's attacked. She must have been absolutely terrified in her final moments, and I can't help imagining the sound of a knife sliding into her chest over and over again.

  “Croftby residents are still advised to stay indoors after dusk,” I read from another section on the page, “and to ensure that all doors and windows are properly secured. A spokesman for the investigating team stressed last night that while there's nothing to indicate that the killer might strike again, residents should take all precautions while police continue their work.”

  In other words, it looks like Paula was right. There's some maniac out there, stalking the streets, and nobody's safe.

  I reach out to turn to another page, but a sudden gust of wind catches the paper and blows it away from me. I turn and watch as the pages separate, and I realize that I'll have to find my own copy if I want to read on. Still, I think I read the most important parts, and it's pretty obvious that Naomi Hart's murderer must be some kind of complete psycho.

  Getting to my feet, I'm about to go over to one of the stalls when I spot a familiar figure in the distance. Paula is crossing the road, and she looks to be in a hurry. In fact, she looks pretty stressed, and I watch as she heads along the alley that runs between the pet shop and the gallery.

  Figuring that I should go and catch up to her, I hurry across the car park and along the street, and then I make my way along the alley.

  Extract from chat log

  Monday January 21st 2013

  Mayfly90330:

  Hey AardvarkQueen310293.

  Long time, no chat.

  How you doing?

  Hello?

  Helloooooooooooooo?

  You there?

  You not there?

  Lol.

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Hey.

  Mayfly90330:

  How's January treating you?

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Fine.

  Wasn't expecting to hear from you again.

  Thought you'd forgotten about me.

  Mayfly90330:

  No way!

  Lol.

  How could I?

  What's shaking?

  Sorry, not got long to chat. Going out with friends but will be back later.

  Maybe longer talk then?

  AardvarkQueen310293:

  Sure.

  Whatever.

  I've got things to do too.

  Chapter Twelve

  Today

  “You've gotta not be afraid of asking for help,” I hear Paula saying up ahead, as I get to the end of the alley. “Do you at least have somewhere you can go? You don't sleep here, do you?”

  Stopping, I see Paula sitting on the ground next to the bins at the rear of the library. There's another girl with her, a kid who can't be more than eleven or twelve years old, and Paula is watching the girl intently.

  “Listen,” she continues, “I don't know whether you've heard, but some bad things have happened lately. Someone got hurt not far from here, and the police don't know who did that, so they're telling people to stay safe. I'm worried about you, Rose. I know you say you can look after yourself, but we all think that until suddenly we find ourselves in trouble, and then -”

  Suddenly Paula glances this way and spots me. She holds up a hand, indicating that she doesn't want me to come any closer, and then she turns back to the girl. Still staring down at her own hands, the girl doesn't even seem to have acknowledged Paula yet.

  “So where are you going to sleep tonight?” Paula asks her. “Do you have somewhere?”

  I wait, but the girl doesn't say anything.

  Sighing, Paula puts a hand on her shoulder.

  “I came by here the other night,” she continues, “and you weren't here. I couldn't find you anywhere, Rose, so I'm thinking you've got some little hideaway that you go to at night. Can you tell me where that is, so I can check on you next time?”

  At this, the little girl turns to her.

  “I won't tell anyone else,” Paula says. “I promise.”

  The girl pauses, before pointing past Paula, toward the back of the coffee shop.

  “Over there?” Paula asks, turning to look. “You sleep somewhere over there?”

  “Behind that bin,” the little girl says, her voice sounding so hesitant and weak. “No-one ever goes there at night.”

  “Okay,” Paula replies, “that's smart. I can see how maybe you're safe there.” She turns to Rose again. “And have you seen anyone acting strangely lately?”

  “No,” Rose says.

  “No-one's been watching you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, that's good. You still have to stay safe, Rose. Do you understand? I'm going to keep an eye on you. In fact, I know a place you can come and stay, if you want. It's warm and safe, and you can even have a bed.”

  “No.”

  “Why not, Rose?”

  “I don't want to.”

  “Nobody would hurt you there. You'd be staying with a friend of mine.”

  “I don't want to.”

  “But -”

  “I don't want to!” Rose says firmly, and now she sounds as if she's on the verge of tears.

  “Okay,” Paula replies, “that's fine. I'm sorry. Just remember that you can change your mind at any time. All I want is for you to be safe.” She glances at me again, before getting to her feet. “I'll check on you tonight, Rose,” she adds. “I know you might not want that, but you've got no choice. I'm coming and you can't stop me.”

  She waits for a reply, but the girl is looking down at her fingers again. Paula pats her on the shoulder and whispers something, before turning and coming over to join me.

  “Who is she?” I whisper.

  “I don't really know,” she replies, taking me by the arm and leading me along the alley. “Just some kid I've seen around. I don't know what messed her up, but I guess she ran away from home. The thing is, she's too young to look after herself, so I've been kinda keeping an eye on her. And now that there's this psycho running around, I don't really know what to do.”

  “Maybe ask her again to come and stay with us,” I reply, horrified at the idea of a child living
on the streets. “Make her understand that there's no reason to be scared.”

  “I don't think it works like that.”

  “But -”

  “She's fucked up,” she adds, as we head out of the alley and along the busy high street. “She's all damaged in ways I don't understand. Frankly, I don't want to know what could have made a kid get like that, but I'm sure it's something nasty. If I try to strong-arm her, she'll just start avoiding me. I'm trying to think of a better approach, but for now I have to play it cool.”

  She opens the door to the coffee shop and heads inside. Although I hadn't intended to come here, I follow her through the doorway and over to the display of sandwiches. Reaching into her pocket, Paula starts counting through some coins.

  “So are you going to come and check on that girl later?” I ask.

  “Damn straight I am,” she says. “To be honest, I'm sure she'll be fine. I think she's way smarter than she looks. I'll make sure she's hidden away behind the bins, and I don't think I can do any more than that. I don't want to spook her.”

  She takes a sandwich from the shelf and heads to the counter.

  “It's not easy, knowing how to deal with a kid like that,” she explains as I follow. “You want to help, but you also don't want to scare them away. It's a fine line, and that's hard enough at the best of times, but it's even more difficult when you're dealing with some psycho running around on the streets. I just hope he doesn't know anything about her.”

  “That'll be two-fifty,” the woman behind the counter says, eyeing Paula with a hint of suspicion.

  Or is it fear?